


Show Me Baby (I Want You To)

by Riachinko



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Grandparents & Grandchildren, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick walks in on Morty jerkin' it, and Morty wants to get even. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Baby (I Want You To)

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the longest thing I've ever written and it's about two dudes jerkin' it, I'm sorry. I hope that's your thing. I hope you enjoy this. If not, just listen to the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," it's like the same thing (つω⊂* )

When he gets home from school, the first thing Morty does is head upstairs. He’s got an entire day’s worth of pent up frustration to release, and he escapes into the bathroom to wash his face and get down to it. It’s routine - quick and dirty just like every other time - Morty takes himself into his hand, jerks himself up and down a few times to pull himself free from his jeans and boxers, just enough to be comfortable.

He's fully hard and his arm hurts already, working up a steady pace, holding on to the countertop to keep himself anchored.

He thinks about Jessica, which isn't abnormal.

He thinks about Rick, which is.

The emptiness of the bathroom makes his deep breaths echo a little too loudly, but running the water has become too obvious a tell. If Summer can hear, she'll bang on the wall and tell him to cut it out. Tell him that he's gross.

But she wouldn’t be wrong.

It happens organically; the moment that his grandfather pops into his head, the second that there’s no denying it, he thinks extra hard, wracks his brain to imagine that maybe it's not just Rick, maybe Rick's fucking Jessica, and that's still messed up but it's not too different from any of the porn he's seen.

He doesn't stop his hand, even when his brain gives up and instead of Jessica giving head, it's Rick on his knees.

"Mortyyyyy!" Rick crows from downstairs.

The entire family's home, but Morty shudders, takes pleasure in the fact that Rick wants _him_ , doesn’t mind feeling used - not _always_. He gasps and Rick's name crawls its way through gritted teeth in a whisper, and he prays that Rick calls his name again - just a few more times should do it.

He jerks his hips up into his hand, fist pumping faster, harder, and god, if it could be Rick's mouth down there...

"Morty, we got a run to make," Rick slurs, drunk, and Morty can hear him coming heavy-footed up the stairs.

Morty’s harsh pants crack under pressure, and he lets out a brief cry that is too loud, but he doesn’t stop, he’s so close...

The door opens.

Because of course Rick has no concept of boundaries, and Morty never had the foresight to lock the door, and his head snaps to the left, sees the wide-eyed look of shock on Rick's face, and he chirps, "Rick!" as he comes; stumbles backwards and falls into the wall, slumping against it to the floor as Rick's tight-lipped mouth begins to turn into a grinning, drooling one and he shuts the bathroom door once more.

He hears Rick fall against the hallway closet, cackling.

"Gross, Morty!" he laughs, halfway down the stairs now. "G-get a new shirt on and get your a _♮uurp♮_ ass down here!"

Morty settles on the cold tile floor, eyes wide, tracing the pattern of cum on his shirt and hopes that yellow doesn't stain as easily as black, before the tears cloud his eyes too much for him to see.

 

That night, Morty can't sleep. It's quarter to twelve and he doesn't have very many people in his contact list, so he texts Jessica, "hey are you awake?" but he doesn't get a reply.

His throat hurts from holding back sobs all night; his eyes are tired and burn. He’s been crying off and on ever since he went to bed; it hurts to believe that he's this messed up, doesn’t know what he’s done wrong when all he wants to be is a normal teenage boy.

He didn’t ask for Rick to be here.

He hates to admit to himself that even though he'd been shocked to see Rick barge through the door this afternoon, when he'd yelped Rick's name in alarm, he secretly wished he'd been whimpering it instead, gasping it breathlessly against the bathroom mirror while Rick pounded into him from behind.

Heat flares under Morty’s skin. He moves his hand over his crotch, doesn't breach the elastic of his boxers - can't bare to. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to jerk off again; has already tucked his boner up under his waistband twice that evening and carried on.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sucks in deep, shuddered breaths; wishes he could just teleport to a less embarrassing dimension. One where he had no Rick, his family was normal...maybe one where he was knee-deep in--

Rick?

He can hear the clinking of bottles and the muffled sound of a door closing; Rick shuffling around downstairs.

Though his brain screams at him to stop, Morty’s already sitting up in bed, feet already planted on the floor. He can’t help himself from wanting to be a fuck-up, from making that familiar trip down to Rick’s room. At least he knows where to find him.

 

Morty stops at his door, vibrating with every movement; finally gets the nerve to twist the doorknob - softly, quietly - and slips into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Brushes his hands over his arms to stop the chill and makes his way down the stairs, tiptoes past the living room, almost home-free.

He sucks in a breath as he moves - Beth sits alone in the dark, bathed in blue television light; it bounces off of her wine glass when she lifts it to her mouth, illuminates the bottle of merlot she has sitting on the side table. She doesn’t notice him stalking by, but Morty wonders if she’d care even if she did.

He finds himself at Rick's door more easily than he’d expected, is thankful he didn’t have to explain himself through lies to his mother; to Summer. The cool night air urges him onward - he knows how warm and stuffy Rick’s room gets - hopes he can find comfort there. He takes two deep breaths in an attempt to calm his nerves before holding out a shaky hand that nearly connects with the doorknob…

He panics. He doesn’t know what he’s doing down here, but Rick always tells him to grow a backbone, so when he gets up the nerve, he doesn't knock; doesn't want Beth to hear.

The lights are off when he enters, save for a small, dim amber reading light perched on a box by Rick's head. It casts an obscene shadow across the wall, lights the room enough to see Rick laying back on his cot with his dick in one hand and a bottle in the other, chugging back what scotch he can before he notices his intruder.

“Wh-wh-what the hell, Morty!?” he spits, and Morty's mouth goes dry.

"You-- you ever heard of knocking, _Morty_?" A dumb look passes over his face as he scoffs, “I guess we’re e _♮uurp♮_ ven.”

Rick shifts and the cot creaks angrily underneath him, pierces the silence in the room and blends with the thuds of Morty’s heart pounding in his ears.

He watches Rick buck his hips upwards just enough to pull up his briefs, entranced by the bobbing of his cock against his stomach before he snaps the elastic over his gut with a disappointing finality. His belt buckle clinks as he moves with his pants still pooling with the bed sheets around his ankles.

“Now get outta here, dummy!”

Morty looks down the hall, paranoid eyes darting from Rick to the doorway and back again, “Q-quiet, Rick, mom’ll hear,” he trembles.

He shuts the door behind him, slouches against it. No turning back now.

“Goddammit, Morty, I was kind of in the m _♮uurp♮_ iddle of something..”

Rick takes another quick swig from the bottle and sets it behind him. He sits up, no longer resting on his elbows, looks Morty up and down, and he blushes as his grandfather's eyes skim the modest bulge in his boxers.

“Y-yeah, b-- well, don’t, don’t stop,” Morty says, barely above a whisper, shaking. “You owe me. I wanna see.”

It sobers both of them, Morty holding his breath with heightened senses, fight or flight about to kick in any time now; sweaty and awkward and beginning to tear up involuntarily. Though the bottle of Johnnie Walker is visibly near empty, Rick looks deadly serious and the drunken flush in Rick's cheeks has paled.

Rick gawks, is hard to read because for as close to him as Morty is, he still doesn’t trust the man to fully disclose his emotions. He’s especially unpredictable when he’s drunk. He hopes Rick’s not at his tipping point.

“A-are you kidding me, Morty? That’s-- that's _sick_ ,” he chokes out, and Morty can hear the uncertainty in his voice, can see the small beads of sweat running down the side of his face, shining in the light .

Rick must notice it too, because his next words are more biting than the last, like a switch going off inside of him, and he looks downright devilish.

“You got a thing for wrinkly old man cock now?” he sneers.

“N-no,” Morty whines in reply, “I-- I don’t know…”

Rick’s tongue sweeps over his top row of teeth. He rubs his hand teasingly over the twitching tent he’s got in his lap, looks Morty dead in the eyes. “So you think I owe you, huh, Morty? Suit your-- suit yourself, I always knew you were a little creepo.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it. It gives Morty an odd kind of courage and he watches on, red-faced and damp with sweat, as Rick’s fingers dance over the vague form of his erection beneath his briefs. He grabs himself over the fabric, slowly jerking up and down, lets out a lewd sigh when he lets his thumb rub circles over the darkened wet spot he’s left on the cotton.

“Look but don’t touch, eh, Morty? Just like th-- like the porn you’re always getting off to. No harm, no foul.”

Morty nods, slack-jawed and breathing fast. He’s way out of his league here, can hardly believe that this is real; knew this room was always stuffy but this suffocating warmth is completely new and it lulls him.

Rick’s fingers catch in the elastic of his briefs and he pushes them back down his hips. Not covered by his hand, Morty can see just how big Rick is - his cock springing free and wavering back and forth against his stomach once more. Morty’s eyes glaze over, his dick twitches, his head buzzes. He shoves a hand into his boxers and watches, hypnotized, as Rick mimics him, wrapping long, lithe fingers around his length, pumping to full hardness.

Faint, fleshy sounds hum through the room as Rick picks up the pace, guileful eyes locked always on Morty. Stroking faster up and down, teasing flicks to the head of his cock; his chest heaving to keep his breathing under control--

When Rick grunts, tinged wanton with lust, Morty begins to shuffle forward.

“Nuh-uh, _Morty_ , stay there o-or I’ll stop,” Rick warns, slackening his wrist.

And Morty whines, “G-geez, Rick,” slowing his fist to match his grandfather’s tormenting rhythm, embarrassed to be so affected.

A purple gelatinous tube lays wrapped in Rick’s twill comforter, and it attracts Morty’s attention, doesn’t know how he missed it before, and just what the hell is it?

“H-hey, Rick,” Morty says, reluctantly lifting his hand away from his groin, “What’s that, that thing there o-on, on your bed?”

Rick laughs under his breath. “You haven’t been watching the right kind of porn, Morty. That’s-- it’s a dildo, Morty.”

But it doesn't look quite like anything Morty's ever seen; similar maybe, but this thing has spores, some kind of alienistic growth that he can just barely see wiggling in the dim lamplight. Rick holds it up, examines it bemusedly with heavy-lidded eyes and puts it in his mouth, Morty's legs feeling weaker the longer he watches.

Rick's hand stops moving on his cock as he focuses on working the thing in and out of his mouth, saliva gushing from between his lips, dripping down the shaft of the dildo. Morty whimpers, embraces the fact that he's going to hell, can't stop touching himself, raising fingers to his mouth to mirror Rick.

As he draws the dildo from his lips, Rick grins, drooling, egging Morty on, " _Are you watching, Morty?_ "

He knows he is.

He holds the dildo down, alien spores moving, stretching and reaching out to connect with Rick's ass; slides in easily, he pushes it into himself deep.

"Ah, fuck," he sighs out, eyebrows pinching in pained bliss. "From Teranium-52, a, a planet not far from here, Morty, they-y, they really know how to do _♮uurp♮_ oo it."

Rick's face goes red, and it makes Morty's heart race faster, he's not used to seeing the man like this; shouldn't get used to it. Rick's hand is back on his cock, stroking fast, hand a blur, and again, Morty can't stop his feet from moving.

"Morty," Rick scolds when he notices the distance between them lessening, but Morty doesn't stop and neither does Rick, just rolls his eyes and bares his gritted teeth and grunts.

And Morty comes closer, panting, kneels on the bed between Rick’s open legs. They can't look at each other now, Rick has stopped playing that game, and Morty's thankful for it, staring at Rick's hand instead. Wanting to touch so, so badly.

But he can't - doesn’t - just bunches his boxers down his hips instead. Rick’s already seen him naked before, no point in being shy now. Not when he’s biting his lip, making such lewd faces; not when he purrs, “Yeahhh, Morty, you wanna see me cum, huh?”

They’re both delirious; light-headed from panting, dizzy from the lack of oxygen in the room.

Rick comes first, hand furiously working himself to completion, and he huffs, groans beautifully; groans Morty’s name as white coats his hand.

Morty’s in a frenzy, it’s sensory overload: the sight of Rick still hard, cum and sweat everywhere; the pink in his cheeks that even the amber lighting can’t hide, and the smell of sex that Morty wants to be covered in. He whimpers as he fists his cock harder, screws his eyes shut tight to concentrate.

“You gonna cum Morty?” Rick growls, low, “Come on, Morty, cum for grandpa, Morty.”

Morty’s so close, any second now--

“G-god! Rick!”

He bites down on his knuckle to keep from howling, can’t help that he’s making these ridiculous animalistic gurgles - doubts Rick cares about that right now, anyway - and squeezes his dick harder, thirsting for release.

“Atta boy,” Rick praises, cool, raspy voice sugarcoated with desire. Morty sees him ball his fists up in the blankets around him; he’s flaccid but he sounds more desperate now than when he was hard, brows knitted together, dark eyes peering at him through his lashes. He huffs, sneers, “You look good, Morty. You wanna cum on grandpa? Hm?”

_God, what?_ Morty gasps, puts his arm out to hold on to Rick, but he’s just out of reach--

“C-c-cum on me, Morty,” Rick rasps, and Morty loses it; throws himself forward to grab onto Rick’s leg, digs his nails into him as he rides out his orgam, spilling onto Rick’s stomach in thin white streams, mixing with what was left over from Rick’s orgasm just moments before.

His cheeks burn, his eyes are still closed; doesn’t really want to open them at all, is enjoying the starbursts of light behind his eyelids.

Rick takes hold of Morty’s shoulder, guides him down to the bed, and they lay together in silence for a moment, regulating their breathing and feeling the air cool against their sweat-soaked bodies. Morty pulls up his boxers, makes a face at the cold stickiness on his gut and wedges his back against Rick’s. Which is a bad mistake - he can feel the cum on Rick’s stomach squishing between them.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s beaten to the punch.

“You should get some sleep, Morty,” Rick says. “Since I had to go deliver the thing _alone_ today, I wasn’t able to take, take care of-- well, we gotta go back, Morty. I need you to drive.”

Finally Morty opens his eyes, looks up at Rick, looks around the room, admires the absurdity of the situation. Rick shifts around a little bit behind him and produces his flask, sipping deeply from it and tossing it to the ground when it’s empty. He looks exhausted.

“R-Rick, I--”

“Tut tut, _Morty_ ,” Rick coos.

He wiggles around a little bit more behind Morty, and a second later he’s blasting a portal on the floor, leans over Morty and places a soft kiss to his temple before leaning back and kicking Morty off of the cot, into the the faint hum of glowing green portal hole.

The last thing Morty sees as he gets swallowed up, is his grandfather’s glassy eyes staring blankly at him, with a kind of helpless look that Morty would kiss off his face if he could. Instead, he finds himself falling through his bedroom ceiling, bouncing on to his bed and subsequently falling gracelessly off of it, on to the carpet.

He removes his boxers, cleans himself with a Kleenex the best he can before crawling into bed. The blue alert light on his phone is blinking aggressively at him from his pillow.

Jessica’s texted back, “hey morty what’s up? i was just thinking about u ;)”

It was sent just seven minutes ago, but for the first time, Morty doesn’t give a shit. He reads it, over and over, tries to care but can’t find the will to, not when his legs are still trembling and his arms are still aching and his heart is still beating so fast because of Rick.

He doesn’t answer.

He falls asleep writing a text to Rick he’ll never send.


End file.
